


The only difference between past and present is semantics

by thedisassociation



Series: We Are Not Stable Bodies (Lessons in Gravitational Collapse) [2]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/pseuds/thedisassociation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor exists everywhere, across all of time and space. Helena is always right there with her (almost.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The only difference between past and present is semantics

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same universe as [We're so many broken things (but not yet)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1619363), though it is not necessary to have read one to read the other. They're both part of the same series, which is likely to keep growing in yet-unpublished leaps and bounds, and little bits like this ficlet.
> 
> The title is taken from Bioshock Infinite, which I don't own.
> 
> Big thanks to Sam and whyyesitscar for their encouragement.

The Doctor is everywhere. She exists as an entity all her own, the last of the Time Lords, and there are bits and pieces of her scattered all across the universe, events happening concurrently and yet isolated to their own times. She’s met people who believe there are multiple universes, planes of existence bumping against one another, intersecting and burning each other up. They are wrong. There is only one universe and everything, all of time and space, exists all at once.

And so the Doctor is everywhere, but Myka, in her purest form, is a rarity. “The Doctor” is her title, her identity. Myka is who she is. (Helena understands this before Myka tries to explain it to her.)

In this moment, she lives. In other moments, she has lived. She will live. In other places, she is dead, dying, will die. Everything is happening somewhere else.

In this moment, she is Myka. With Helena’s hands on her hips, one hand fisting in the material of her top, she is just Myka.

“You are thinking too much,” Helena says.

Myka reaches for Helena, fingers splaying across her shoulder. Her nails dig into the skin there, leaving tiny crescent-shaped indents. “No,” she wants to say, “the Doctor is thinking. I am standing here, immobile in the arms of a dangerous woman, thinking just as much as I have to.” 

(Helena, dangerous in many times and spaces, will go to prison one day and Myka will tease her endlessly that it took so long for Helena to anger someone enough to arrest her.

At other points in time, Helena is a free woman, was a free woman. 

These moments are already happening somewhere.)

Myka says nothing, soothing the marks on Helena’s bare shoulders with her fingertips.

“Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would get my message,” Helena goes on, closing the already small space between them.

Myka blinks at her, the corners of her mouth raising. “I always get your messages. They’re not exactly subtle.”

Helena’s hands slide over her hips, palms flat against Myka’s sides. “You like me when I’m not subtle.”

Myka nods. “It makes it easier for me to figure out what you’re up to,” she says honestly.

“After all this time?” Helena asks, sounding almost hurt, almost sad. But Myka knows the truth: Helena’s almost-emotions are a game that Myka has mastered. “Do you still not trust me?”

(She will always trust Helena. Except when she doesn’t, when the hurt cuts too deep and the betrayal is too new for Myka to even consider looking at Helena Wells ever again.

There will be a day when she will stop trusting Helena. This day is already happening. It has not happened yet. It is happening right now.)

“I trust you with my life,” Myka replies. Her fingers brush lightly across Helena’s skin, moving down her arm. Helena’s body is warm against hers and she is almost content.

“But not with yourself?”

A long moment passes. Relative to all of the other moments of her very long life, it is short, but as it is happening, it feels very long and very loaded, weighed down by a thousand things that will never be said between them.

(“I love you,” she will never say. Isn’t saying.)

“I trust you with that, too,” Myka finally says.

“Good.”

Across the console, playing with some wires that she’s been told not to touch, Claudia is muttering that they should get a room already.

“Shall we then, darling? On to the next big adventure?”

Helena presses her lips to the corner of Myka’s mouth.

(“I love you,” she will always say. Is saying.)


End file.
